Torn
by Real.Smile
Summary: Feelings cannot keep you from doing your job. The task itself was not that difficult. Get in, get the story, and get out. Of course, nothing was ever really that simple. She wanted to be the best, and this, this was her task. However, she hadn't really expected for things to turn out the way that they did. She never expected anything to make her chose between her job and her heart.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** So I've had this plot in my head for a while. So I'm gonna try this out. If it flops it, flops if not… well we will see. But I hope that you all enjoy this story. I have a feeling that they going to be fun to write.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

 _Krum Elopes in France._

Her icy blue eyes scanned over the words on the paper in front of her. As they did, a soft smirk crossed her lips. As she finished reading, she allowed her eyes to be drawn back up to the moving image just under the title. A taller and well-aged Viktor Krum ushers his new French wife through the front door of what one would suspect to be his French vacation home. Big stars like Krum had vacation homes everywhere. She crossed her legs at the ankle and relax into the chair as she flipped to another page of the morning paper.

"Ms. Vane?"

Her icy eyes moved from the sports section of the paper to the mousy woman standing in her doorway. Slowly, she brought the paper down and folded it in her lap. As she did, her eyebrow arched, signaling for the woman in her doorway to continue.

"The editor would like to see you."

The woman exhaled roughly as she stood and dropped the paper on the dark wooden desk in front of her. She ran her fingers through her dark, curly hair and then started towards the door. The woman, an intern that had started the day before, moved out of the way swiftly and then continued to follow the woman she had been sent to get.

"Why are you following me?"

"He, uh, told me to see that you came to his office," the intern stuttered, her face turning red.

"I see."

The dark hair woman rounded the corner in the corridor and make her way towards an office door at the end of the hall, all with the new intern in tow.

"Mr. Keegan," the woman said as she pushed open the door without knocking. "You wanted to see me?

The older man behind the desk looked up at her from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. His brown eyes met her icy blue ones through the lenses. She noted that they were a little smugged. His darker eyes held a sort of amusement at the sight before him. A mousy brunette intern standing just outside the door and the confident raven-haired journalist leaning against the doorframe. Mr. Keegan was a chubby man, of about forty-five or so. His face bore the wrinkle lines of someone that had been in writing business for years. His eyes looked as though they had experienced many things.

"Romilda," he said as she leaned back in his plush leather chair and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat. Alexandra, you may go. Thank you for fetching, Ms. Vane, I know that she can be a handful." The intern looked torn, as if she wanted to say something. "Alexandra?" She opened her mouth to speak. "Would you like to stay and observe?" Mr. Keegan questioned.

To that Romilda Vane looked over her shoulder, her icy gaze intense as she waited for the interns reply. The intern opened her mouth to speak, however under the gaze of the raven haired woman in front of her, she closed her mouth and shook her head as she backed out of the door, closing it on her way out.

"You shouldn't do that, Romilda," the older man scolded.

"What?" Romilda asked as she turned to face the editor, feigning innocence.

"You should learn to play nice," he told her.

To that Romilda snorted. "Not likely, Mr. Keegan."

"Of course," he said as he stood form his desk. "Well, I summoned you here for a reason, Ms. Vane. Firstly, the Krum article, people love it. Very well written." Romilda accepted the praise from her editor with a close lipped smile and a tilt of her head. She knew that it was not going to last long. "However, I need something more. When you started here what did you say?"

Romilda remembered what she said very well. She'd been saying it for years. "That I was going to be bigger that Rita Skeeter, just you wait."

Yes, Rita Skeeter. That woman. While many people couldn't stand her. Romilda admired her. The way that she just slipped in and go the story. The way that she wrote. Just everything about her, Romilda admired. When she had come to Hogwarts during her fourth year to talk to the participants of the Triwizard Tournament, Romilda made sure to never let her woman to from her line of sight. She'd even gone as far as to speak with the journalist about her techniques. And Rita being the self-centered woman she was loved every second of it, and even always Romilda to sit in on her interviews and take notes.

"Bigger than Rita Skeeter," Mr. Keegan echoed. "You don't know how many times I've heard someone say that they were going to be bigger than a writer that they admired. They never make it. But you, Ms. Vane, you can."

She could and she was damn proud of that.

"I have the story that I think could get you there." He turned and made his way back to his desk. He settled down into the leather chair and reached into the drawer, producing a manila colored folder. He placed the folder on the desk between them. On her lap, Romilda's fingers twitched. However, she held her hands in place. "It'll be something different for you. Not a onetime interview, it'll be a longitudinal study. I'm giving you this because I feel that you have the skills needed for this assignment." He pushed the folder across the desk and Romilda picked it up.

"Who is it on?" she questioned as flipped it open.

"Theodore Nott," Mr. Keegan replied as she read his name on the first page in the envelope. "I know that you aren't too fond of sports stories, but he and his fiancé just called it off, the reason is a mystery. Theodor Nott," Mr. Keegan reached over and tapped the picture on the page, "is a very eligible bachelor." Romilda nodded as she continued to flip through the pages in the envelope. He was indeed very handsome with his strong jaw line and hazel eyes. "I have set up an interview with him tomorrow at four. The Appleby Arrows are," Mr. Keegan allowed his voice to trail off as he tried to find the right way to phrase what he wanted to say.

"They have gotten good since the instillation of Theodore Nott as their captain and chaser," Romilda supplied as she pulled out a sheet showing how many points each person scored on the team in the last two games, seeing as the season had just started. She then looked back at the sheet before it listing the scores from the previous season. "By himself, Nott scored more points in one game than the team did in their highest scoring game last season."

"He's put them on the map as a competitive team. No one was really concerned with them until this season," Mr. Keegan replied. Romilda crossed her legs and continued to look through the papers. "So you accept?"

"Yeah," she replied absentmindedly.

"You are understanding what I'm asking you to do?" he questioned.

It was the tone of his voice that made her close the folder after slipping the papers back into it and look up at him. She couldn't quite place what the tone was or why it concerned her. So she nodded, "Of course I do."

This was it. This was her big break.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Here's another chapter. I just wanted to push it back up to the top of the list to see if there was any interest. Thanks to my reviewer, I hope you keep reading.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

"Let's call it a day, boys."

The players in the air all seemed to let loose a collective sigh of relief. It seemed like they had been at it all day. Granted, they had been at it all day. Running what seemed to be the same drill and formation all day. Of course they hadn't. The practice had been rather productive. They had cleaned up a few of the formation errors that the coach saw from the pitch in last week's game, as well as some that the captain had seen while playing. A hole or two in the defense that made scoring easier on the other team.

Six of the seven players started their descent to the pitch, however, one remained.

"Come on, Nott, we've been at it for hours," one of the players said as they stopped their descent and looked upward towards the remaining player.

"Go on, Smith. I'll be in soon," the player in question replied in a clipped tone.

"You have an interview today, don't you? You better shower up."

The player that had not descended snorted audibly and rolled his shoulders back. "Yeah, I suppose that I should." His tone still clipped. However, he continued to hover for a moment longer, his gaze on the three rings at the opposite end of the pitch. Maybe his teammate was right. Maybe he should just come back and practice later when he wasn't exhausted. With a sigh, he tipped the nose of his broomstick downwards towards his teammate.

* * *

The practice pitch.

This was where he wanted to have his interview?

Romilda Vane snorted, a very un-lady like behavior that she had picked up over the years. This was the absolute last place that she wanted to be. When she asked Mr. Keegan if there was any way that the interviewee would be willing to change location, he replied negatively saying that he had already asked if there was a way that he could meet somewhere more neutral. The interviewee said no. That it was the most convenient place for him seeing as he would just be finishing practice at that time. And the interviewee always won.

So here she was. Dressed in a light blue button down shirt, tucked into a pair of black dress pants with her black heels digging into the grass. Hanging over her left shoulder was her messenger bag where she was keeping her notepad, quill, and ink. Pinned over her right breast was a small silver pin that Mr. Keegan had handed to her, it was her pass into the practice pitch.

As she approached the entrance to the pitch, some of the players were leaving. They were all dressed casually, carrying their blue and silver duffle bags. When they walked by, they glanced at her briefly, some glanced longer than briefly. Romilda felt a rush of pride. After a moment, she reached out grabbing the forearm of one of the passing players.

"Is Theodore Nott still here?" she questioned as she turned her icy eyes towards the man.

"Uh, yeah. I think he's still on the, erm, pitch," the man replied.

Romilda removed her well-manicured hand from his forearm and nodded. "Thanks."

As she started away from him, she could hear one of his female teammate teasing him about the way that he has stuttered in answering her question. The girl was mocking him in a deep voice, which did sound similar to the one that the man had responded in. That amused her.

Romilda walked gracefully, despite the fact that her heels were digging into the grass beneath her, on to the pitch. She looked around on the ground of the man she was supposed to be interviewing and when she could not spot him she rolled her eyes, turning her attention upwards. There he was, Appleby Arrows jersey on and all, soaring above her with a quaffle in his hand. She shielded her eyes with her hand as she watched him.

He was fast, turning without any hesitation. Dropping and rising without effort. She had to admit that she was impressed. His concentration on the three hoops in front of him was intense. His hazel eyes never leaving the goal. His jaw clenched. He raised his arm and let the ball roll off his fingers with an effortless force and watched as it flew into the hoop.

"Are you Theodore Nott?" she questioned loudly. She could see that she had broken his concentration and that he was less than pleased about it.

"You must be from the Prophet," he shouted back as he watched the quaffle drop to the grass.

"I am. I'm Romilda Vane," she called back as he started to descend towards her. She reached her hand out as he stopped eye level with her. "Thank you for letting me talk to you."

He shook her hand in return, noting the smoothness of her palms against his slightly calloused ones. When he released her hand, he let his feet touch the ground and after a quick and graceful dismount, brought his broom to his right side.

"So where is a good place for us to talk?" she questioned, glad to be using her normal town of voice. The shouting was getting a little annoying. In response he gestured to the benches on the side of the pitch and started walking towards them. Romilda rolled her eyes, but followed.

Theodore settled on to the bench and Romilda sat next to him. Quickly, she pulled her quill, ink, and notepad from her bag. Unlike her idol, she didn't use a magic quill to take her notes. She did it all by hand. As she prepared, Theodore leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and ran his fingers through his hair. Romilda took this time to give him a look over.

His thin fingers were moving through his short dark brown hair. She could see the drops of sweat rolling down his neck from his hairline. From her position, she could only see his profile. His strong jaw seemed to be the feature that her eyes kept getting drawn to. It was just hard to ignore. His shoulders were broad and-

"Ready when you are, Ms. Vane," he said as he looked over at her.

"Yes," she replied. She tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear and dipped her quill in the ink. "Okay, Mr. Nott, what brought you to the Appleby Arrows? With your stats you could have gone somewhere-"

He cut her off, "Somewhere better? I could have, but I saw some sort of potential here."

"Potential?" she questioned letting her voice trail off as she wrote.

"The team hasn't been that good," he said.

"Awful," she supplied. "No one was really concerned with this team, save the Wimbourne Wasps, who are, let's face it, equally as bad."

His hazel eyes turned to look at her briefly as a smirk crossed his lips, just as briefly. "Yes, they were awful. However, they are better."

"Were you looking for a way to rise to stardom? Save a hopelessly awful team? Bring them to the top."

Theodore shrugged. "Something like that," he answered.

"So this choice was a selfish one?"

That smirk crossed his lips again. "Something like that," he echoed. "You can't put that in the paper though, it would ruin your story." He reached over and plucked the quill from her small hands. "Besides, that's not what you came to talk about." For a split second, Romilda's hand continued the action of writing before she realized what happened. He'd taken her quill from her. No one had ever don anything like that before. In response to his action, her icy blue eyes to quickly snap up to his.

Blue meeting hazel.

"I could weave a story from this," she told him. "I could make you look like a good teammate choosing a team that you saw potential in. You came to the Appleby Arrows to help them improve on their teamwork and develop new plays." she reached over and took the quill from his hand.

Smooth skin brushing against calloused skin.

Theodore had to admit that he was impressed with the raven-haired girl sitting next to him. He hadn't expected much when he received an owl saying that the Prophet wanted an interview with him. He had expected them to send a tomboy-ish girl that knew everything about sports and stats. However, the way that she was speaking made it seem like she only had the knowledge that was presented to her. He hadn't expected them to send this raven-haired girl with icy blue eyes, bow-shaped lips, and a prominent chin. The way that she held herself was a little intimidating. She just oozed confidence. The way that she moved was too graceful. She was too poised. And yet-

"Mr. Nott," she said, pulling him from his thoughts. "What is it that you think that I want to talk about?"

"Don't play coy, Ms. Vane, it's not a good look for you," he told her. "You want to talk about Mandy and I calling our engagement off. I've read your work, it's not sports oriented at all."

"Flattered that you would take the time to read my column," she told him. Romilda the reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a folder. After a moment, she pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Actually, I'm not here to talk about the engagement. That paper has all the objective of the interview. Nowhere does it say to ask about your engagement."

He took the paper from her and gazed at it. Her words were true. He handed the paper back. The wind picked up, blowing from behind her.

Her scent greeted his nose. A scent that he was unable to place, but one that he found pleasing.

"However, if that's what you would like to talk about," she continued.

Everything about him hardened. "No. I don't."

"Of course. So the team," she started, brushing off his discomfort. "How is the atmosphere?"

He turned to face her fully, his thick eyebrow arched. She amused him. It had been awhile since someone had amused him the way that she did. "What house were you in at school?"

"I beg your pardon?" she responded as she looked away from the notepad on her lap and up towards him. She noticed the cleft in his chin. She was never the one on the other side of the questioning.

"Your house at school?' he repeated slowly as if she were a bit slow on picking things up.

"Gryffindor," she replied. "The atmosphere of the team. How is the teamwork part going? Anyone in particular that's just stubborn?"

"You're how old?" he asked looking away from her and towards the sky.

Romilda sighed as she dipped her quill in the ink next to her. "Twenty-two," she answered. "Now, please, Mr. Nott, the interview."

He was quiet for a long moment. "No one is fighting the changes, if that is what you mean. The see that it's for the best. The team dynamic, the phrase I think that you were looking for," he looked down out of the corner of his eye to see if she picked up on him teasing her. If she did she didn't bother to show it, and for some reason that disappointed him, "is good. The beaters seem to be on the same wavelength as us chasers. They know where to put the bludger at the right time to give the most protection to the chaser with the quaffle."

"And are you living in Appleby?" she questioned. Again, everything about him tensed. Romilda looked upward from under her eyelashes. "Still in London, I presume," she said, not waiting for his answer. She scribbled something down in the margins of her paper and the sighed. "Well, Mr. Nott, I think I have enough to put out something in my column. Anything else that you would like to add?"

He did not respond to her verbally, he only shook his head.

"Well, it should be out in the paper tomorrow, if you wanted to read it," Romilda told him as she capped her ink and dropped it into her bag along with her quill and notepad. After shouldering her bag, she reached her hand out to him again. "Thank you for your time."

He turned to her and shook her hand. Calloused clasping smooth. His larger hand seemed to engulf her smaller one.

She pulled her hand from his and started away from him casting a small wave over her shoulder as she did. Behind her, he mounted his broom and took off upwards. As she walked away, she began to mentally prepare herself for the work ahead. If she wanted to get this in tomorrow's paper, as she was supposed to, she would have to head straight back to the office and write it up. It wouldn't take long, seeing as the interview was not extensive, however she just hated being in the officer late at night. It was full of people doing what she was about to do, cramming to write their articles and editing them.

Romilda let loose another hefty sigh and pulled her wand from a pocket on the front of her messenger bag. With a quick flick of her wand, she apparated from the pitch and into her office at the Prophet.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Hello! I'm seeing that people are viewing the story, which is really exciting, so yay! I'm trying to keep updating so that it stays at the front of the list so that people can see it. I know the pairing isn't common. In face, I put it in the filters and only my story popped up. So yay for originality. So here's the next chapter. I hope that there are readers out there and if you're reading, drop a review and let me know. I love seeing the reviews in my email.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

"What in the bloody hell is that?"

Romilda Vane groaned as she burrowed deeper into her sheets as the tapping continued. She knew exactly what that was. It was a bloody owl. As the tapping continued, she burrowed further and further into the warmth of her bed hoping that the owl would just give up and go away. Maybe it would think that she wasn't at home. However, she knew that wouldn't happen.

After another minute or so of the tapping, she groaned again and reached her hand from under the comforter and towards the bedside table. After a few failed attempts she finally placed her hand on the object that she was searching for: her wand. Lazily, she flicked it towards the window, causing it to open and the owl to fly in. The bird flew around her room several times before landing on her bedside table.

Romilda poked her head from under the sheets and exhaled slowly. She took the letter from the owl. Before she could open the drawer on the table to pay the bird, it flew back out of the window. The raven-haired woman propped herself up on the pillows around her, briefly glanced at the clock on the wall, _10:11,_ and she opened the letter.

 _Ms. Vane,_

 _The first interview seems to have gone well. No mention of the fiancée?_

 _Daniel Keegan_

 _Editor of the Daily Prophet_

Romilda tossed the letter on her bedside table. It was always something with him. She pushed the comforter off her body and stretched. Gently, she swung her feet on to the floor, a chill running up her body as her barefeet touched the hardwood floor. After her body adjusted to the chill of the hardwood, she stood and grabbed her towel off the chair beside her bed and then moved towards the bathroom.

The response to the editor could wait. She would see him when she got to the office.

* * *

Before Romilda went into the office, she stopped by a coffee shop. There was no way that she could go into the office without a cup of coffee. The shop where she stopped was her usual place. Normally, she was there much earlier than she was now. The barista even commented on it.

"It's unusual to see you here so late, Ms. Vane," the woman said to her as she started to make her usual drink: a chai latte.

"I know," the raven-haired girl said as she reached up to ran her fingers through her curly hair. "Late night last night, so I took the liberty of sleeping in." She reached into her shoulder bag and placed two galleons on the counter.

"I see," the woman responded as she lidded the hot beverage and placed it on the counter. "Thank you, Ms. Vane."

Romilda nodded and started out of the door. As she opened it, the little bell over the door jingled, signaling her leaving. She looked downward to close her shoulder bag, when she ran into someone. The woman jumped backwards to avoid her wasting the hot drink on her green shirt and black pants. The beverage cup fell to the ground in front of her, spilling over the cobblestone between her and her assailant.

"Watch where you're going!" two voices snapped at the same time, in the same venomous tone.

Blue met hazel.

"Ms. Vane," the man before her drawled.

Romilda brushed her hand down the front of her green shirt making sure there was no moisture on it. "Mr. Nott, thank you for making me drop me drink."

"I believe that it was you that looked down while she was walking," he pointed out as he watched her actions through his hazel eyes. "I assure you there is nothing on your shirt." He was teasing her again. However, unlike yesterday, she seemed to notice it.

She rolled her icy blue eyes and snorted. "Thank you for that observation. However, if you had seen me looking down you should have stepped to the side."

"Everyone knows that the fastest way to get somewhere is in a straight line," he countered.

Romilda glared up at him and he glared back. This was unusual. Usually when she turned her icy gaze to someone with such intensity they looked away. However, he did not. He held her gaze, glaring back just as intensely as she was. It made her feel a little uncomfortable. Of course, what else did she expect from an alumnus of Slythrein house? However, she was not going to give him the pleasure of winning this contest. It seemed that he was not going to look away either.

Eventually they both looked away.

"I was actually going to send you an owl later today," he told her after he cleared his throat.

Romilda, who had looked down to hide an unfamiliar heating sensation in her cheeks, looked up towards him again. "Read the paper, did you?"

The man across from her shrugged. "It gets delivered to my flat every morning. So yes, I did. Bletchley can sure write a good sports report."

He was teasing her again, and again, she responded.

"Bletchley," she said slowly, bringing her index finger to the corner of her lips and turning her icy gaze upwards. "Not quite sure who you're talking about. His writings must come after mine in the paper."

"I suppose that they do," he answered.

There was a brief pause in the conversation.

"So," Romilda prodded as tucked a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. It was rare that she got to talk to a person after she'd interview them.

Theodore looked down between them at the cup on the cobblestone walkway. "Let me buy you another cup of," he paused, "whatever it was that you had. If you're not in a rush, Ms. Vane."

Keegan could wait.

"No, I'm not in a rush."

* * *

The two settled down at a small round table in front of the coffee shop. The barista was surprised to see Romilda come back into the shop, after she had just left. However, before the barista could comment on her return, Theodore walked in behind her. The barista had never seen Romilda with a man. Not that Romilda wasn't pretty enough or anything. Romilda was stunning. She had just never come in with a man before. The barista knew better than to question Romilda about the man. Instead she took their orders, he wanted a coffee, black, and of course she wanted a chai latte. However, before the barista could start their orders, Romilda stopped her.

"Green tea latte," Romilda said.

Something different. Again, the barista didn't question her. She simply made the beverages, took the money that he gave her, and kept her mouth shut. She then watched them, Romilda and that man, walk out of the shop.

Odd.

"So," Romilda said again as she looked upwards towards the sun. It was a warm morning. "You read the paper?" She crossed her legs under the small, round white table and brought her drink to her lips.

"I read the paper," he confirmed.

This man was frustrating.

"And," she continued.

"I've found that you have actually writing talent," he told her. He watched as her icy eyes narrowed. "Do I offend?"

"No," she replied as she brought the cup from her lips.

"The article wasn't half bad," he told her.

"I'll accept that half assed compliment."

"You were right. I didn't expect you to be able to weave such an interesting story with the limited material that you got."

"It's not always about what you say," she stated calmly. It was only about 50 percent what the interview said. The other half was what they did. How they acted. How their eyes moved. While it seemed that Romilda was much occupied with her note taking, she was actually taking in everything. Every pause. Every twitch of the eye. She was very good at her job, and people always underestimated her.

"I see."

There was a quiet moment between them as they sipped their coffee.

"You know that this is all on the record?" she questioned.

Romilda Vane was never off the record. Which was why she spent a lot of her time alone. Knowing that anything that was said in a conversation could end up in a gossip column didn't really make people want to talk to her. Which meant that she had very few friends. She understood that. So whenever she was just sitting around talking to someone, which was very rarely, she felt the need to let them know. She was always on the record.

Theodore looked over at her as he sipped on his coffee. She was a piece of work. He brought he cup down to the table and shrugged. "I wouldn't expect anything else."

That shocked her. So much that she stopped the motion of reaching for her cup on the table and glanced over at him briefly. Blue meeting hazel. She looked away, and wrapped her fingers around the cup in front of her. Most people once she told him that, didn't really stick around to talk, and if they did it was because they wanted an interview with her. They wanted to have their name in the paper. So what was his goal? She had already put his name in the paper. He was already well known. What did he want? She was even tempted to ask him what it was he wanted, but she opted out of it.

"What brings you to my favorite coffee shop?" she questioned.

Her gazed over at her briefly. "I like coffee."

"There's a million coffee shops in London," she stated.

To that he shrugged.

"What was your owl going to say?"

"Nothing as flattering as what I said to you earlier," he answered with a smirk.

Romilda decided that she liked his smirk. It was soft on his hard features.

"That was your version of flattery? It seems that you'll remain the Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelor for a while if that's what you think of as flattery,' Romilda snorted.

Theodore laughed. Laughed fully and wholeheartedly. "Most eligible bachelor?" he asked though his laughter.

Romilda scrunched her nose at his laughter. "What are you on about?"

"Is that what they are calling me?"

She narrowed her eyes. "How do feel about that?" Always in reporter mode.

Theodore shrugged again, he shoulders still shaking with the remnants of his laughter. "Well, that titles comes with the news that Mandy and I broke off our engagement. Bittersweet, I suppose."

Mandy.

"Brocklehurst," Romilda said suddenly. Theodore glanced over at her. "She was a Ravenclaw in your year, wasn't she?"

He nodded. "I didn't realize that you weren't aware that they were one in the same."

Romilda shook her head, her curly raven hair swaying with her action. "I just, she's a Ravenclaw."

"I quite enjoyed her quick wit," he told her as he looked away from her. It seemed that he found something very interesting in the clouds floating by. "She kept me on my toes."

"She's a half-blood," Romilda countered.

"You sound like my mother, Ms. Vane," he commented. "Yes, she is a half-blood. She's also rather intelligent."

"Sounds like you enjoyed your time with her," she said, making mental notes of his words. As well as his posture. The way that her refused to make eye contact with her, meant that he was hiding something. The way that he leaned away from her, also showed him hiding something as well as a want to distance himself from her.

"Yeah," he answered.

"You have a game this weekend, Saturday afternoon, right?" she said. For some reason, she didn't want to make him talk about his past relationship if he did not want to. So unlike her.

"I do," he said, his hazel eyes meeting hers again. "Against the Wasps."

"That sounds exciting," she teased. "Looks like it will be an easy win."

He chuckled. "I suppose so." The Quidditch player paused. "Who is the prophet sending to watch the game?" He placed he now empty cup on the table.

"Bletchley, probably," she said with a shrug. "He's the sports reporter."

"Of course."

Theodore looked down at his watch, something she had not noticed until then. With a sigh, he stretched and started to stand. "Well, Ms. Vane, you are welcome for the coffee," he told her.

"You are welcome for the company," she countered.

"Until we meet again, Ms. Vane," the man said quietly, before he stepped away from the table and on to the cobblestone pathway.

After sitting at the table for a moment longer, Romilda decided that it was indeed time to head into the office. The woman stood, and pulled her wand from the pocket on her bag and gave it a flick. She appeared at the door of the editor. Without knocking, she twisted the door open and walked in.

"Ms. Vane," he greeted without looking up from the papers on his desk. "Take a seat."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for reviewing. I'd love to hear what you all think of the story so far. So keep up the with reviews.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Happy Potter.

* * *

Friday night.

Friday night and she was spending it in her office. Her icy blue eyes scanned across the paper in front of her as she scratched out words and added punctuation. By the time she was finished with the proof reading, the parchment would be nothing but a sea of red markings. She tapped the tip of her quill on the corner of the page, leaving red dots on the parchment.

"Take this back to, Thomas," the raven haired girl said as she finished her notes on the paper she was reading.

This was something new that Mr. Keegan had decided to do. Instead of having one person do the proofreading for the articles that were going into the next day's paper, he had everyone in the office proofread someone else's article. They were not assigned a person's article to proofread, they just asked the first available person. Or in Thomas' case, the last person in the office that was able to do the job.

"Yes, yes ma'am," the intern in her office, the one with the mousy hair, said as she backed out of the door.

Romilda turned her attention to her own article. She'd handed it off to Bletchley earlier in the day, so that he could read over it. He was the only person in the office that she felt was competent enough to proofread her work. In turn, he handed his to her. While the two of them were never going to get along, he thought that her work was unappealing and a waste of space, they did have a certain respect for one another.

His article had been about the upcoming game between the Appleby Arrows and the Wimbourne Wasps. He'd listed stats about both teams and even had a few quotes from both coaches. He had even managed to get a few words from the captain of the Arrows, Theodore Nott. However after closer inspection, she realized that Bletchley had just taken his quote from her article. As a sort of joke, she wrote in the corner for him to make sure that he properly cited his sources. She knew that he was not going pay her note any attention and leave it the way that it was. Honestly, she didn't really mind, because it was Bletchley, had it been anyone else…

"Ms. Vane?" the mousy intern called as she knocked on the open door. Her icy eyes snapped up to the intern. The intern squeaked. "There's someone here to see you."

Romilda shook her head. "I don't want to see anyone."

"He's rather persistent," the intern said.

Romilda looked at her blankly. "Send them away."

The intern disappeared as she turned her eyes downward again. She could hear the intern speaking to someone, her voice quiet and desperate sounding. However, she could not hear who she was talking to. She then heard her walking towards the door again.

"How hard is it to get rid of someone?" Romilda snapped without looking up from the black ink on the paper on her desk.

"You wound me, Millie."

A small smile played on her lips as she placed her quill back in the ink and looked upwards in to the green eyes of Cormac McLaggen. "Please, don't call me that where people can hear," she said tightly although her icy blue eyes had thawed. She watched as he moved into her office and shut the door behind him.

"How about now, Millie?" he questioned as he moved towards her.

Romilda pushed back away from her desk and watched as he walked around her office. He moved gracefully for someone of his size. He was never overweight or anything like that, he was just broad shouldered and tall. She'd never know a tall person to be as graceful as he. His blond hair was short and curly. He pushed his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the short side of her desk.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that at all," she answered as she crossed her legs.

"You look lovely, Millie," he commented as he touched her curly hair. She turned her icy gaze to him briefly. "Fine, Romilda."

"That's better," she said as she picked her quill back up. "What brings you here, Cormac?"

"You," he answered.

Romilda glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Yeah?"

"Would you fancy a butterbeer?" he questioned. She continued to watch him from the corner of her eye. "A firewiskey, perhaps?" She looked away and towards the paper on her desk. Romilda pushed away from the desk and stood, before moving towards the door.

"You, intern," the raven-haired woman called as she opened the door. She held the paper out to the woman. "Get this to printing. Tell them it's from me." Romilda eyed the girl hesitantly with her icy eyes. "Can you handle that?"

"Yes, ma'am," the intern replied. "Ms. Vane," the intern said after a moment. One of Romilda's eyebrows arched. "My name is Alexandra."

Romilda looked at her for a long moment and then shrugged. "Get it to printing, Alexandra." With that she moved back into her office and closed the door behind her. "You were offering firewhiskey?" she questioned as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Cormac moved towards her and placed a hand on either side of her head. "Are you accepting my invitation?"

Romilda and Cormac had history. She and Cormac were one in the same. Both were pushy, conceited, overly self-confident, the best aspects of Gryffindor house. That was what made them friends, even if he was three years older than her. They had met in the common room one night when she was completely unable to sleep in her first year. He'd been sitting in the armchair reading some book. When she'd come down the stairs he'd said something slightly vulgar to her and she shot back with a comment rejecting him. He'd decided that he liked her then. Other people didn't seem to understand their nature. Their confidence was off-putting. So they spent a lot of time together. They soon became part of the statistic of boys and girls being unable to be 'just friends'. Cormac was Romilda's first, and her his. Through that they were always connected. That also opened a different door in their friendship. Cormac was never really dating anyone, he always floated from girl to girl. However, Romilda was always a constant for him because she was never dating anyone either. She had this constant guard up that made her incredibly intimidating, and of course the icy blue eyes a feature that brought her intimidation factor up ten fold. That and she had impossibly high standards and no one seemed to met them. Well there was Harry Potter, but that was a different story. While he was a naturally self-absorbed person, he cared for her. He loved her, in many different ways, and Romilda, while she always told him that she didn't, cared for him deeply as well. However, they were not in love. They always knew that they would never work as an actual couple. They both distanced themselves from other people too much for anything to work. Their relationship was always strictly physical.

"If you're paying, Cormac," she replied as she ducked under his arm.

He rolled his green eyes as he pushed away from the wall. "Don't I always?" As he watched her walk towards her desk to attempt to straighten the mess. She would stop in a moment. He had never known her to be able to get her desk as clean as she wanted it to be.

"Your parents raised you well. Shall we go? I don't think I could stand being here one more second."

He was right.

Cormac held his arm out to her and she moved towards him. The raven-haired reporter took his arm and before she could say anything to him, the sensation of being pulled through a small tunnel overtook her.

* * *

Because he'd apparated without so much as telling her, he had to buy her an extra drink. He obliged. He honestly enjoyed their time together, as rare as it was. She was always busy doing something or other with work and he played Quidditch, so he was busy practicing and traveling. In fact, he'd just returned from Ireland earlier in the day. Romilda was the first person he thought of going to see. However, he knew that she was at work, so he entertained himself with another friend.

"How's Quidditch?" she questioned as she brought the glass of firewhiskey up to her lips. It was her fourth glass of firewhiskey and she was sure to start feeling the effects of the alcohol shortly.

He watched her. Cormac would never deny that he enjoyed to watch her. Her movements were always so fluid and graceful. He watched as the glass came to rest on her plush bottom lip. The way that she held herself, with such confidence and a knowledge that she was indeed stunning. The way that she used her icy blue eyes to intimidate everyone. The way that people moved out of the way when they saw her. And the way that she raven hair perfectly complemented her skin.

But she'd asked him a question and he had to stop watching her to answer.

"It's fine," he said with a shrug. "Are you going to come to one of my games? I can get you a seat in the box."

"With Bletchley? No."

"No, you won't come?"

"No, I won't sit with Bletchley."

He nodded and held up his empty glass, gesturing for another one. This would be his fifth glass. "Well, you could always write the sports report and he won't need to go." She laughed at this. "That would be an interesting report. Do you even know the names of the equipment?" he teased.

Romilda smacked his arm lightly. "Of course I do!" Her voice was a little loud, the alcohol was starting to show its effects. "There's the snitch, the quaffle, and bludger." She ticked each of the balls off on her fingers.

Cormac's face was starting to look a little red as well. "I'm impressed, Ms. Vane."

"I had to do my research," she said slowly as she held her glass up. The bartender came and refilled both their glasses. She held her glass out to the side and Cormac tapped the brim of his to hers. "Cheers," they said before drinking. "I had to research because of Theodore Nott." She lowered her eyebrows in concentration as she spoke. Was this glass five? Yes. Glass five.

"Yes!" Cormac shouted, drawing the attention of the other witches and wizards in the bar. "Theodore Snott." Romilda laughed with an uncharacteristic snort. "How was that?"

She shrugged and finished off the firewhiskey in her glass. "S'fine." She was slurring now. "Can't tell you anything that wasn't in the paper."

"But we are friends," Cormac said indignantly and loudly. He then proceeded to pout.

"Not telling you," she sang.

"You're a terrible friend, Millie. I've been with you for years and tolerated you when no one else would," he slurred as he attempted to point at her in an accusatory manner, but only succeeded in almost falling off the bar stool. "And you won't tell me any secrets."

"Tolerated _me_?" she questioned, an emphasis on me, with an arched eyebrow. "No, it was the other way around."

Cormac rolled her green eyes again and then looked over at her. "Romilda," he slurred.

"Cormac?"

"You're awful," he told her. He consciously, and clumsily, moved closer to her. She could smell his breath now. He smelled like firewhiskey, but she was sure that she did as well.

"You've told me that."

"Romilda?" he slurred again.

"Cormac?"

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

"Merlin's beard!"

Romilda winced into the sunlight as it broke through the blinds. Blinds? Her icy blue eyes shot open. She was in an unfamiliar place. She didn't really know where she was. The grey sheets. The warmth radiating from the other side of the bed. The warmth? Romilda looked over quickly and gazed at the person next to her.

"McLaggen," she said as she poked him, holding the sheets to her bare chest. He didn't stir. "McLaggen," she tried again, poking him now in the ribs. He grunted. "Mac!" her shouting even made her own head pound. He winced at the sound of her voice and swatted at her, trying to silence her.

"Millie, hush," he mumbled into the pillow.

"Invest in some curtains," she replied as she pulled the grey comforter over her head, trying to block out he sun.

"Do you always wake up this ornery?" he grunted as he rolled over on to his back folding his arms behind his head.

She flicked the first part of exposed flesh she could find, somewhere on his lower back, in response. "Invest in curtains," she repeated, her voice muffled by the comforter.

"Buy some for me," he mumbled. He was silent for a moment and in that moment, Romilda could literally hear her head pounding. "I always have worst hangovers when I drink with you."

"Same," she said quietly.

A comfortable silence fell over them. Romilda relished the heat that Cormac's body was radiating and she relaxed under the blankets. She listened as his breathing fell soft again and she realized that he had dozen off again. She pulled the sheets from over her head and sighed. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She had to admit that Cormac was handsome. He was handsome and he had always been a constant in her life. There were times when she debated on if she should just give into what seemed to be her fate of ending up with Cormac. Most people thought that they were a couple during their time at Hogwarts, despite his open attempts to date other female students, Granger in particular. However, they never were just good friends with benefits.

Romilda poked him. "You," she said quietly. "I have to go."

"Then put on your clothes and go," he said as he swatted her hand away lazily. He didn't open his green eyes but he could feel her icy gaze on him. He shifted uncomfortably. "Stop looking at me like that," he begged as he opened one green eye. "Stop it, Romilda."

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're glaring at me."

The woman shrugged and rolled out of the bed taking the comforter with her. Cormac sat up, positioning himself on the pillows on the bed. He watched as she bent over and picked her clothes up from the floor.

"My bra," she said. "Where is it?"

Cormac shrugged as he stretched. His foot hit something unfamiliar. He reached under the sheet she'd left on the bed and pulled out her black bra. "Here, Millie," he said as he presented it to her with it hanging on his finger by the strap.

Romilda dressed quickly, trying to make herself look halfway presentable. She was sure that her curly hair looked like a bird's nest. She tried running her fingers through her hair, but they only managed to snag against every tangle in her hair.

"Romilda," Cormac voiced as she tossed the comforter over towards his bed. He watched as she pulled on her lace underwear. "I'm going to Bulgaria Sunday night," he said. The raven-haired girl looked her shoulder at him with a questioning gaze. "Quidditch."

"Bulgaria. It's hot out there," she told him.

"I know. There's nude beaches there," he said with a wink and he could see Romilda physically resist the urge to roll her eyes.

"How long?" she asked as she buttoned her shirt.

He shrugged. "A few weeks?" he said, the upward inflection at the end making it a question. "Wanna come?"

Romilda snorted and shook her head. "You're crazy." She looked over him and saw that he was serious. "Seriously? You want me to go to Bulgaria with you in two days?" Her eyebrow arched. "I'm not going to do that, Mac."

"Just an offer, Millie," he said with a shrug. "I'll send you a ticket to a game?"

"I'll put it in the pile with the rest of them," Romilda sang as she looked in the mirror on his wall. She saw him reach behind him to grab a pillow, which he tossed at her. She stepped to the side and the pillow hit the dresser. "And you play Quidditch?" she teased. "Why can't you send me a ticket to a match in this country?" she questioned.

"I'm trying to keep you cultured, love."

The woman rolled her eyes and moved to sit on the bed. "Well I thank you," she said as she collapsed back on the bed. "I'll write you," she said as she reached up and patted his arm. "Well, you'll write me and tell me things so that I can put them in the paper."

"The paper?"

"Find a hot girl on a nude beach or get drunk at a pub or something outrageous and I'll write about and everyone will love me, and via extension you," the woman told him.

"I was sold at 'find a hot girl on a nude beach'," Cormac laughed. "Come for a visit and I'll tell you all my stories."

"Or you could write me so that I don't have to apparate across the English Channel," she told him as she sat up and then pulled on her shoes. She huffed. "I have to run," she said looking over her shoulder.

"I had fun last night," he said with a wink.

The raven-haired woman picked her wand up off his bedside table and briefly pressed her lips to his cheek. "It's always a pleasure, Mac. Be safe in Bulgaria and all that. Don't forget to write."

Before he could speak to counter her words. She apparated from the room.

* * *

 **A/N:** So let me know what you think! I have always liked Romilda and Cormac as friends because they are very similar in personality and I don't feel like there are many people in Gryffindor like the two of them. After reading up on Romilda, she could have very easily been in Slytherin. However, her Gryffindor qualities outweigh her ability to manipulate and deceive people.I also just really like Cormac. So yeah, let me know what you think about them. To clear any confusion that might have been, they are friends with benefits. So they hook up on the occasion. Anyway, let me know what you think.


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